Archive 139 Bigfoot and UFOs

around three am. There been several accidents on the road near her home, where it comes across the train tracks, and the bushes and the woods near the tracks, and the odd bend in the road can make it treacherous if drivers don't pay close attention. There are no railroad crossing signals on the road, and if you have your music to loud, you might not hear the train. More than one car has smacked into the train, which is

always a losing proposition. She approached the tracks, and although she was exhausted, she was careful to come to a stop and crack her window a bit to listen for the train. There were no lights coming or train sounds coming down the tracks, and with her window crack, she took the opportunity to light a cigarette while she stopped.

As she put the cigarette into her mouth and fished around in her purse for a lighter, a huge, hairy hand with a massive hairy forearm smacked palm first onto the driver's side area of the windshield, mere inches from her face. She let out a startled scream of terror. The darkness outside prevented her from seeing anything approach her car, and the darkness outside and the lights from the dash inside also prevented her from getting a good look at

her attacker. In any case, she didn't stick around to find out who or what it was. She mashed her foot on the gas and blasted down the road. She got home in no time and ran for the safety of her trailer. She concedes that she didn't see what smacked her window, only that it was a giant and the arm was covered in thick, dark hair. It could have been a man out near the train tracks in the woods at three am in the dark, but she's

convinced that it was a bugger. We have spent many evenings on the porch playing cards at the main house, and her terrible screams come from the woods beyond the pond. All my cousins tell me it's a black panther they sometimes see in the area, and it certainly sounds like the scream of a big cap the kind that sounds like the blood curdling scream of a woman that ends in a roar. But now I'm not so sure it

is a panther. If your show has taught me anything, it's that boogers and bigfoot can make those same sounds. Either way. Next time we visit, I won't be out walking around outside in the dark by myself. Thank you for your time. Keep up the great work. I love the Steve Lily stories. Keep them coming, dude, I love writing them. You and I talked about Steve Lily over the phone. Some people say he's my alter ego. No

he's not. Steve Lily is just a character. He's like I put ten or twenty guys I've known in my life together and I just stuffed them all in Steve Lily and that's how he got to be how he is. But working on Steve Lily Number ten now, I hope to have it out in the next week or two, so I keep getting emails and comments, and you know that's very flattering. I don't say those things like I'm bragging. I say those things in all that people actually like

those stories. To me, they're so silly, but and I love writing them because it's like I feel like a little kid when I'm writing them. When I tell you that there's I get a lot of emails and comments on them. I'm saying that in what's the word, I'm looking for appreciation, gratitude, and thankfulness that you all enjoy those stories, and that the man who wrote this story that I just read, he's a screenwriter. When you have somebody read or hear your story and they like it,

that's better than one hundred dollars bill. I guarantee you, to someone who wrote it, it's better than one hundred dollars bill. So thank you all for enjoying Steve Lily, I'm going to have another one out pretty soon. Anyway, let's move on to another story. Okay, this is a really interesting story. And at the beginning of his email,

he gives me I almost narrated this. I'm glad I didn't, because he said, let me tell you a bit about myself in confidence he wants to remain anonymous for several reasons, but I will tell you this. He's sixty five years old. It's a man. He's got an extensive education background, bachelor's degrees and leadership and ministries, and a master's degree in the science of counseling. And he says, I hate to talk about myself. I was taught not to brag, but I did graduate at the top of my class, and

people say that I helped them make good decisions. I'm only telling you this to give these stories a little credibility. So, in other words, he's not from the trailer park like me. I'm just kidding, man, I'm just kidding. So here's what he writes. My sister and I are the only ones living from our immediate family now. My mom and dad and three older brothers have passed away, so I really don't have anybody to ask about the things that I'm

going to tell you. But there's just a lot of strange things that happened as I was growing up that never had a resolution. And I suppose it was because they happened to me at such a young age that I didn't question them or fully dwell on them. I'm writing to you because of your non judgmental approach to the subject of the unknown. I enjoy your style of telling about these experiences, and I check your channel to make sure I haven't missed any of them. That always

makes me so happy when people say that. You know, people think this is a successful YouTube channel. It's a small channel in the scope of YouTube, and I still get giddy when I hear people say, Oh, I like to hear you read a story, and you know, if I don't know, I'm just going on here. Let me keep going. So he writes. All three of these events that I will tell you are true. They're not fiction. You may use them on your channel, which I enjoy very much, or just read for your own pleasure if

you want. All I ask is that you mask both names in specific places. We grew up in Knoxville, Tennessee. We lived in a law large ranch style home with a big, full basement and a main level and an upstairs. It faced the highway and on the other three sides it was surrounded by woods. And he sent some photos, but I don't show photos, so we're not going down that road. We rented it from the cement plant. My dad worked for. I recently tried to find out how

many acres the plant owned, but I couldn't. I did find out the manufacturing and packing plant itself is thirty two acres, so it stands to reason that there's at least seventy five acres or so of fairly dense woods that were talking about. I always loved to play in those woods. It was a southern boy's dream. We moved to the house when I was six years old, and I lived there until I was eighteen. There was one house next to iris when we moved in, but it

was vacant and torn down shortly after. There were no other homes around at all after that, and I would estimate the closest would be a mile or two in either direction, with only the woods and the plant behind it. I would always go through those woods to the left of our home, which was a quarter a mile of dense hardwood, and then i'd crossed a small fence that opened out into a large field. Across that field, I could go play in a small creek, and that was

always a fun track. Sometimes I would go to the right of the house into those woods. We would always throw our leftover food or spoiled food over the fence on that side. I would go about a quarter mile in that direction until it opened up into a clay clearing that was totally surrounded by large pine and evergreens. It had a big deposit of slate rocks, and I can remember grabbing a rock and riding my name on the other rocks around there. It was like a chalkboard.

That clearing was one place I always felt like someone was watching me, though I never went any further than that to the right, even though the river was only a half mile further. If I were to walk straight back towards the center of the woods for miles and miles, I would eventually get to the plant my father worked at. But we never went toward the center of those woods.

For some reason, there seemed to be unspoken boundaries. Even when I went out with my older brother's hunting, I was always told not to go that way because the plant would blast rocks back there with dynamite. There were plenty of no trespassing signs, no hunting signs, all riddled with bullet holes, and oddly enough, some danger quicksand signs really quicksand in East Tennessee, or was that a sign to just scare people. We always had dogs that we

kept outside. Now it seems to me like they always disappeared or died on a regular basis, and I never understood why. And in my family, a good Southern family, if you do not talk about it's like it never happened. Oh man, isn't that a weird thing about us Southern people? We just don't. I do. I talk. I like to talk about things. Sometimes I need to talk things out, but mostly I'm quiet. I'm not a bliber mouth, but some things I need to. Okay. For some reason, this

story is making me yack. I'm gonna quit doing that. We usually kept one or two hunting dogs like beagles, and at least two big German shepherds. My dad always put the dogs up in a strange way. He stationed them directly behind our house, one to the right side of the woods and one towards the center of the woods, and one to the left. We had a large pin that spanned the entire half of our yard that was

made from fencing at least six feet tall. On the front of the large pin was a house made from ten and it was big enough to shelter a pony we had for a while. Why didn't they just put the dog and that instead of letting it sent empty? I wonder if they were put up like this to guard our yard. Dad always kept a loaded shotgun handy as well. Mom would always warn me that the boogerman was in the woods and that I shouldn't let it

get me. She would have probably freaked out if she knew I went in there to play as much as I did. Later on, my dad would explain that screams we heard a few times in those woods originated from bowampus cat, a large mountain lion type creature we used to talk about. Did he tell me this because I would be more accepting of a large cat in those woods rather than well, something else. I think the subject of these stories is more than land we lived on

rather than anything else. Or maybe because I believe in the supernatural, I was more sensitive to these events. Or maybe they happened to me just because with a randomness that can be ironic. Well, let me get to the first event. I did not usually take my little sister with me in those woods to play when I went, but one day we decided to play in that fenced

in lot I mentioned earlier. We played in the tin house next to the only entrance and exit until close to dusk, and we decided to venture out to the other end, which was grown up now into tall grass. As we got closer to the end of the pen, both of us stopped for some reason as we looked down. Near our feet on the ground lay a jawbone from I don't know what, maybe some animal, including gums and teeth.

It was fresh, because I distinctly remembered that the gums were not dried out but had to shine to them like they were still moist, and the teeth were all intact, like the entire jaw was carefully extracted. It could have been a canine. I really don't know. That frightened both of us, so I didn't pick it up to examine it. I left and on the side of the pen where those center woods were, and the six foot fence had been pushed down and was two feet from the ground

in one section. It had not fallen down. It was purposely mashed down for something to gain access into the pen undetected. And then we heard a long guttural growl coming from something crouched down in the tall grass and weeds about fifteen feet in front of us. We both knew we had to get out of there, and we backed out and we ran to the house. We told our parents and they thought we were just playing. Well.

I went back the next day and the jaw was gone. Finally, my parents told us both to stay out of that house. There were fleas from the dogs in there, and we would get them, even though we never kept dogs in that ten house. Well, what do I think happened? I think there were sasquats living deep in those woods, but at that time knew nothing about them. This happened to us in nineteen sixty six. The sisquatch probably thought I was harmless and they never bothered me when I played

back there. I think one pushed down that fence in the back of the pen where it couldn't be seen and had easy access from the center woods. And I believe that it had killed something, maybe a dog or a coyote, and brought it in there to eat, and us goofy kids walked up on it and it felt threatened, so it growled. After that, I heard more stories of the wild man in our area, and we became careful,

especially at night. In fact, when my sister was older and she was left alone in the house, she was so afraid that she would sit under the kitchen table with chairs pulled in around her until somebody got home. Even when I grew to a teenager and would come in at night from work or a date, I would never hang around outside. It was so dark from the woods in our yard, and the dogs would regularly bark into the woods and we would hear movement in there,

but we never saw anything. And our usual routine for being tucked into the house would include making sure the garage light was turned on, the door to the screen porch was locked, the door to the kitchen right off the screen porch was locked and dead bolted, and the living room door going out to the front porch was locked and the inside chain lightched, and the outside entrance to the basement would be locked, and the entrance into the main floor from the basement was bolted shut. On

November fourth, nineteen sixty five, my grandfather died. I was ten years old then and my sister was seven. He was never a warm and fuzzy type grandfather. He would always sit out in the yard with his metal lawn chair and smoke cigarettes. He was a slim man with a ring of white hair around his head. He always had on his Liberty overalls, a sport coat, a stetson hat,

and broke in boots. I felt bad for my father that Paul, that's what we called him, had died, but I didn't feel the loss as much since he was not an overly affectionate kind of a man. Two weeks later, Mom and Dad had to go somewhere and left my sister and I alone for a while. We were goofing around on the porch and something got my attention about halfway up the driveway. It was Paul walking up the driveway and his overalls and his sport coat and hat

and his brokens. Both of us scurried into the house and locked the kitchen door. We didn't have time to lock the screen in the porch door, so my grandfather walked in and began to knock on the kitchen door. We both hid in the living room until we were sure he was gone. Both of us saw him and recognized him. There was no mistake about that, but the way he was dressed and the way he walked were just the same. Now, I cannot explain that to this day, and my mom just said it could not have been

him and we were mistaken. The next story I have takes place a couple of years later. My older brother and I were home alone one night and for some reason, we went outside. As we stood there, right outside the detached garage, we both looked into the sky. It was dark and clear, with the stars shining all around. At this time, it was nineteen sixty eight. The area was still undeveloped as far as business goes, so there weren't

any lights from buildings or signs. As we looked up, it seemed as one of the stars was becoming brighter than the rest. It was becoming brighter because it was getting closer. In a matter of seconds, we understood that it wasn't a star. Yes, they're hovering above us, was a flying saucer. Its appearance was similar to the classic nineteen fifties sci fi movies. It was round with lights that rotated all around it, and it looked bigger than our two story house and it just hung there, making

little noise as we stared back at it and shot. Finally, my brother told me to get in the corner of the garage and stay there I did, and he ran into the house and got the Trusty twelve gage shotgun. I heard him come out and I stepped out too, and just as he shouldered the J. C. Higgins twelve gage, the object disappeared. We both stood there and shocked for a while. Never spoke of it again, but I always felt protected and glad my brother was around. Isn't that weird?

I have absolutely no idea what this was. All I truly know is that it was an unidentified flying object that scared us both to death. And Now for my fourth story, this occurred when I I was seventeen. I had the entire upstairs to myself. My sister was always afraid to have her room up there for some reason. Maybe it was because you could hear footsteps up there

when we were all downstairs. My parents said the house was just settling, and I always left a light on in the hall bathroom and the door cracked about halfway. If I knew it would be dark before I went upstairs to my room, I would leave a light on all day so the area would be illuminated for me when I walked up those stairs. As I went to bed. One night, I took my glasses off and I placed them on the bedside table. I have poor vision and

I could see nothing without them. And I woke up sometime in the wee hours of the morning and I turned my head to the side. That's when I saw it, or I saw him. I was standing in my hallway, right outside of my room what appeared to be a Civil War soldier. He had a uniform, one that looked like a Confederate officer's attire with fancy braids and buttons. Before I could even react or think, he was straddling me on the bed, making the mattress in springs underneath

me conformed to a U shape. I sunk into the middle of the bed. I had been scared before, but this was stark terror. And as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared, and the mattress, the springs, and me returned to their original position. I immediately sat up straight in the bed, and I took a deep breath, and I screamed. Yes, I screamed, but no sound came out. I took a deep breath to scream again, but no sound, just my breath. I have since read that if you're terrified, your body

may go into shock. It temporarily freeze up and it will not function. But the third attempt came with a blood curdling scream, and I ran downstairs and I told my mom, who met me at the bottom of the stairs, that I had a nightmare. She suggested that I sleep on the couch in the downstairs living room that night, and that's what I did for a week. Was it a nightmare? Really? Was it a familiar spirit, maybe taking the form of a soldier who fought in the area.

How could I see in such detail without the aid of my glasses? I will never know. Shortly after I moved out got married, my sister did as well. Mom and Dad moved to a house they built on a lake. The old house was torn down by the plant. It was not in bad shade. And why they decided to tear it down instead of renting it or selling it, I'll never know. Again. All these events are all true, and I'm sure no one would believe me. I've never shared all three events. Actually there were four events with

anyone else, but they really did happen. Feel free to use these stories if you wish. You may call me to verify if you want. If I'm busy, leave a voicemail and I'll call you back. Thank you for all you do in the wonderful stories you tell, and then he signs off. I'm telling I'm gonna be straight up with y'all. I read this story cold because I thought it was a Bigfoot story, but then it got into UFOs and it got into ghosts. They saw their grandpa walk up to the house. You know, I love these

stories just as much as Bigfoot stories. They're all great. We all love to hear them, and this man was so nice to sit down and write all this stuff down for us to enjoy. So this is the story that's at the end of the video. I know everybody expects me to do Bigfoot. I really like doing these UFO ghost stories. We do those on the what if it's true? This one kind of snuck in. I'm gonna leave it in because it's just damn good. That's all there is to it. Confuct In, Pug need be distrust